


Viva L'Amore, You Who Trust Not

by Zayrastriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU start of s7, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean loves Castiel enough to die for him.  And once Castiel – burning from the inside out with the weight of Purgatory’s souls and determined to fix all he ruined before one final death – realises this, he’s determined to teach Dean one last lesson.  How to love enough to live.<br/>(Because that’s going to be easy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viva L'Amore, You Who Trust Not

**Author's Note:**

> AU from start of season 7.

They miss the solstice.

Or eclipse, or whatever it is they needed to reopen the gates to Purgatory and get all that filth out of Cas, back through the gate.

It doesn’t matter because they fucking _miss_ it.

Not that Dean cares; because Sam disappears about five minutes after Death does, and try as he might, Dean can’t find him.

(Too busy trying to find Sammy, poor son of a fucking bitch ( _sorry Mum, don’t mean it_ ), at the bottoms of cliffs and on the sides of roads.)

So now, well.

Simply put, it’s all a fucking mess.

Can’t find his fucking stupid hallucinating giant of a brother, who’s got whatever Lucifer did to him flooding his mind.  Dean broke after thirty years.  He doesn’t know what a hundred and twenty years of the personal attentions of two angry archangels might do to someone, and he doesn’t want to.

 _Fucking hell, Castiel_ , he thinks, too tired to feel anything more than a dull, numb sort of rage.

 _Fuck you_.

What hurts most is that he really didn’t believe Cas was going off the deep end till he made that stupid fucking mistake.  It’s not that he didn’t know – Dean _knew_ ages ago.  It was hard not to, with those ridiculous blue eyes giving away every ounce of guilt every time the angel glanced at him.

Dean knew, but he didn’t _believe_ till Castiel was looking at him wide-eyed in that dark room, firelight dancing over his face and reflecting in his gaze; making the vulnerability of his sorrow all the more painful to Dean.

He tries not to think about that.

But right now, he’s bunkered down at Bobby’s (what else to do?) and waiting.

Waiting for some news of Sam, something, anything.  Waiting for Castiel to get his head screwed on properly, and planning.

And between cheap bottles of sour beer and crap vodka that doesn’t burn hot enough when it goes down his throat, there’s nothing to do _but_ think.

( _What if_ -)

_Stop._

( _What if- I’d been better-)_

_Stop._

_(Stronger-)_

_Stop._

_(Smarter, faster, stronger, better, kinder, harder, **more** -)_

**_Stop._ **

_(It’s my fault-)_

**_But-_ **

_(It is.)_

**_Maybe, but_ ** _-_

_(It is.)_

_It is._

**_All my fault_ ** _._

* * *

Death rocks up at the front door a week later.

As in, he knocks.  Three even thuds that sound way too much like the peal of a funeral bell.

(Dean thinks, anyway – last time he was at an actual funeral, it was because he was hunting the deceased’s very enraged spirit.)

The Horseman’s wearing the same suit as always; black and stark, well-fitting and obviously expensive.  _Must have a good tailor_ , Dean thinks idly as he stares dully at the hollow, gaunt face and fairly anorexic figure that even the suit can’t disguise.

Death stares back, faint smile on his face not extending anywhere near his eyes.  Dean doesn’t like looking in those eyes.  They make him uncomfortable, but not in the same way that Cas’s do.  Death’s eyes are a void, black and cold and horribly infinite.  It’s not _death_ in the way Dean thinks of death; rather, a sheer absence of life and light.  Not darkness and death.

Just _absence_.  Oblivion.  _Nothing_.

 _I will reap God_ , Dean remembers, and shivers.

The Horseman must notice Dean’s discomfort, for the smile widens very slightly. 

“What do you want,” Dean says, flat and listless.

Death raises one thin, arched eyebrow.  “Really, Dean.  I thought we’d been over this.  _Manners_.”

Dean didn’t think there was any fear left in him, but there’s enough for a tiny shiver to run up his spine.  “Would you like to come in?” he mutters through gritted teeth, and the Horseman lets out a dusty, humourless laugh.

“As enthusiastic as your offer is, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

Dean carefully holds back his huff of sheer relief.  “Then what do you want?” he asks again, only just remembering to soften his tone towards the end.  Death doesn’t react but there’s an unmistakeable sense of amusement coming from the Horseman.

“It seems you failed to capitalise upon the golden opportunity I gave you to rid the world of that puffed up self-made deity of an angel.”  The distaste is obvious.

 _Yeah, you try saving the world when your brother’s off in La-La land and your best trump card is the new monster in charge_ , Dean thinks.

“I wouldn’t know,” is the Horseman’s reply.  “I don’t have any siblings.  And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be self-sacrificing enough to sell my soul for him – because that _is_ where this all started, isn’t it, Dean?”

“You-“

Death waves a dismissive hand.  “I’m not interested in your self-pitying angst.  I’m just here to tell you I’ve cleaned up your mess, Dean.  Again.  I really don’t want to have to do it again.”

“What-“

“Goodbye, Dean.  I’ll see you soon, I don’t doubt.”

And the next time Dean blinks, he opens his eyes to see the Horseman gone.

* * *

 

Nevertheless, there is work to do.  Because the thing is, Dean’s not okay with Death’s plan – he’s far from okay with it.  But it’s the only thing he’s got (they’ve got) – so he deals with _not-okay_.

At least until there’s a knock on Bobby’s door.

“Hey, Dean,” is the only thing the creature that looks like a healthy, pre- _wall-crashing-down_ Sammy manages to get out before it has to duck away from Dean’s punch. 

“Dude, it’s _me_.”

Dean could call the thing out on its mistake – as though it honestly thinks Dean would believe this is Sam when Sam’s got the _Hundred Years of Lucifer_ show racing through his head – but he’s too busy trying to beat the living crap out of it.

Before he knifes this son of a bitch, he’s gonna make sure it feels every ounce of rage (and worry and guilt and fucking _fear_ -)

Suddenly, long leg hooks around Dean’s right knee, his weak one, and _pulls_.  Startled, Dean barely manages to twist enough to avoid an awkwardly placed fall onto his back.  But though he ends up on his side, pushing his hands underneath him to get back to his feet as quickly as possible, he’s too slow.  Large, strong hands push him to the ground and the thing fucking _straddles_ him, keeping his shoulders pinned to the ground.

“I’m going to _kill_ you, you fucking-“

“ _It’s me, you idiot_ ,” Sam hisses (no, that is _not his fucking brother_.)

Dean says nothing; just grits his teeth and pushes himself up against the hold.

Doesn’t work.  He knew he shouldn’t have skimped out on his abdominal work yesterday, goddamnit-

The thing sighs and sits back very slightly, still keeping up the pressure on Dean’s upper torso.  “First time you made me drink beer,” he says with a roll of his eyes, “I spat it out and cried.”

For a moment, Dean stops struggling.  “You could have got him to tell you-“ he starts.  Maybe-Sam groans.

“First time _you_ drank beer-“

“ _Alright, alright_ ,” he says hastily.  “You can get off me now, bitch.”

Sam (yeah, okay, probably) lets out a soft huff as he relaxes his hold.  “Pretty sure that you’re the bitch in this situation, Dean-“

Dean surges up and flips them in one easy, smooth movement.

“You were saying?”

* * *

 

“So how are you not…you know…”

“Crazy?” Sam finishes for him.  “How do you think?”

“I don’t know, did you spend a hundred and twenty years playing Monopoly?”

His brother grins.  “Don’t know how well that would have ended.  I’m pretty sure Lucifer would have rigged all the _Chance_ cards, for one thing.”  His grin twists, eyes shadowing, till the humour’s gone completely.  “No,” Sam says quietly.  “I.  I remember.  And…”  He tries for another smile, but it doesn’t work.  “Yeah.  No Monopoly.  But it’s alright.  Cas fixed me.”

Everything’s not fitting together.  “What.”

“Cas.  Castiel.  You know, messenger of God and all-“

“Thought he _was_ God,” Dean mutters reflexively before what he said sinks in.  “Wait, Castiel fixed you.  _I’m-A-Hardcore-God-Who-Isn’t-Going-To-Make-My-Best-Friend’s-Brother-Not-Crazy_ Castiel fixed you?”

Sam sighs.  “Yeah.  Not so much Crazy Cas now.  But yeah, he fixed me”

“Death told me he was going to do something, but – well, this is fucking awesome!”

It is.  Sam fixed, Cas not crazy anymore, Raphael off their backs (no way Dean’s feeling guilty about Raphael’s death, even if he feels for her poor vessel) and a super-powered angel with them-

“Dean.  _Dean_!”

Reluctantly, Dean forces himself up and out of his euphoria-induced haze.  “What?” he grouses, but immediately sobers up when he sees the expression on Sam’s face – a complicated mix of sorrow and concern.

“Cas isn’t…”  Sam swallows heavily.  “He hasn’t got long left.”

Dean had been looking slightly away from his brother.  But at those words he looks up at Sam, wide-eyed.  “What?”

And fuck, that concern’s for _him_.  For _Dean_.  But Dean doesn’t get why, can’t do anything but stare blankly as Sam continues in a quiet, gentle tone.  “Cas isn’t crazy anymore.  But the souls…they’re burning him up from inside. So he’s going to fix everything, and then…”

“And then he can chuck them out, right?” Dean asks.  He’s not pleading, he’s not.  “We can open another gate to Purgatory, put them back in the box-“

“They’ve latched onto his Grace, Cas says.”  Sam shakes his head.  “I don’t really get it, to be honest.  But he won’t be able to get them out; they’ll do anything to stop from being shut back in Purgatory.  But he says there’s a way to contain them so he can wait.”

“For what.”

There’s pity in Sam’s gaze and he doesn’t understand.  “Angels and Purgatory weren’t ever meant to go together.  Eventually the Grace and the souls…they’ll combust.  Explode.”

“I don’t understand.”  Because he doesn’t.  If what Sam says is true, then there’s nothing they can do about it.  Nothing.

There’s always something they can do, always something _Dean_ can do, as long as he works harder, is smarter, is _better_ …

Oblivious to Dean’s agony, Sam exhales heavily.  “Cas is going to kill himself.  And take every soul of every monster with him.”

* * *

Cas is waiting for him in a darkened, abandoned warehouse in Chernobyl, one that looks far too familiar to where they first met. _You have half an hour before the radiation will start to set in,_ Balthazar told him.  Apparently he took being killed by Castiel with surprising equanimity, possibly aided by the fact that Cas brought him back to life.

 _Along with half the Host_ , Anna had added.  Dean’s glad she’s back – he used to like her, even beyond the fairly hot sex, at least till she went psycho and tried to kill his brother.

But Anna’s not here.

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” Dean growls sans greeting as the angel turns to face him.

The angel just looks at him, still even in the presence of Dean’s fury.“It’s alright, Dean.”  There’s a smile on Cas’s face, all benevolent and patronising and it freaking _pisses Dean off_.

He steps forward and grasps Cas by the shoulders.  The angel doesn’t move, doesn’t react except to look at him with calm kindness lending a serenity to his face that shines even through the peeling, corrupting flesh. 

This does not in any way help with the being pissed off.  “Cas, you can’t do this.  It’ll kill you-“

“I know,” Castiel interrupts, smile gone now.  This gives Dean a vicious sense of satisfaction, right until he realises that the sadness in the angel’s eyes isn’t for Cas.

It’s for Dean.

Normally, that’d just fuel Dean on – but he can’t, not now.  This isn’t about Dean and his feelings, right now.  It’s about Cas, and trying to get him to ditch the melodramatic suicide mission thing and go with Deaths’ plan of expelling the souls. 

It’s about Cas.

“Then why?” Dean asks instead, and he’s horrified to hear a note of plaintiveness in his own voice. 

“I have enough time,” Castiel tells him softly.  “Enough time to fix everything I ruined – bring back everyone I killed without reason.”

Dean shakes his head angrily, viciously.  “What’s gone is gone, Cas.  You know it won’t work, you know-“

“You _think_ you know, Dean,” says the angel, and how is he so soft when Dean’s raging, barely stopping himself from wrapping his hands around Castiel’s neck and choking him, draining non-existent air from lungs that don’t need it till he fucking _listens_.  “But I know everything now; and it’s going to be fine.”

“It’s already fine,” Dean pleads.  “You saved Sammy, you’re back with m- us.  Come back, Cas.”

“I can’t.”

Dean grits his teeth.  “Then let me do it,” he says through gritted teeth.

Castiel’s spent this whole time with his eyes slightly lowered, expression soft and understanding.  At Dean’s words, that electric blue gaze swings up to pin Dean before him.

“You would, wouldn’t you.”  It’s not a question – they both know the answer, and there’s no way Dean can even think long enough to formulate a reply.

But something kicks in long enough to force his shoulders up in a shrug.  “Sam’s fine, the world will be fine,” Dean says.  “I did some research, Cas – you can bind their souls to me.  You can…”

 _You can live_ goes unsaid as a powerful force shoves Dean back into the wall. 

“Three years,” Castiel hisses, a burning rage lighting his eyes from cool ice to blue fire.  “Three years I have had to watch you sacrifice everything for everyone that you love, and I will not have you sacrifice for _me_.”

 _Don’t say_ me _like you don’t mean anything_ , Dean thinks at the same time as he automatically grouses, “Yeah, like I love y…”

The two combine, and the second stops with a _‘course you do, same way you love Bobby and Sam – yeah, but I don’t want to screw my fucking brother – oh._

 _Fuck_.

And maybe it’s about time for Dean to have his gay (bisexual? Rhonda Hurley was and will always remain the greatest sex of his life) panic attack but then Castiel is talking, those eyes staring too intensely furious for Dean to ignore.  “Look, Cas-“

“No.  No, Dean.  It’s your turn to _look_.”  Castiel fairly spits that word as he steps towards Dean, a glint of something Dean really does not like in his eyes.  Dean backs away, only to feel hard brick collide roughly with his back.  “Three years, Dean.  But that ends.  _Now_.”

“Cas,” Dean startles, more than a little alarmed by the sharpening intent in the superpowered angel’s eyes.  “Cas, come on, we’ve got work to do-“

“And again.” 

Before Dean can react, Castiel’s crowding him into the wall, a look of fondness warming his gaze slightly. “I’ll save the world, Dean.  You don’t have to worry about that.  Just…learn.”

“What-“ Dean begins, as Cas reaches for his forehead – and then it’s too late.  No time to say anything more, as the world disappears into nothingness.


End file.
